Learning
by MagicalRachel
Summary: Tonight was supposed to have been perfect and he had ruined it. Because of the stupid game and his stupid future. A Troy oneshot with slash themes Chyan . Rated M for foul language only.


**Title: **Learning

**Summary:** Tonight was supposed to have been perfect and he had ruined it. Because of the stupid game and his stupid future. Chad was his best friend, his _best friend_ and he had just let people hate on him

**Rating: **M for foul language. Slash themes.

**Author's Note:** Written for, inspired by, and dedicated to Slayya (aka Mel) because she is my bff and I love her. That and she wanted Troy angst.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own High School Musical or any other major franchises mentioned herein. This is most unfortunate.

* * *

The lights were still on in the away team's locker room by the time Troy escaped the post match breakdown and headed to the showers, his towel slung around his shoulders. Laughter echoed through the maze of rooms, bouncing off the tiles, following him as he reached his locker, spinning the combination to open it. He grabbed his shampoo, dislodging his rucksack, and yelling in frustration as it fell, hitting his feet. He picked up the offending bag and shoved it back in the overfull locker, forcing it in so that he could slam the door shut.

"Fuck." He sank back onto a bench, head in his hands.

He had been such an idiot. Tonight was supposed to have been perfect for him, for all of them; the first major game of the season. Their final season. And he had ruined it. Because of the stupid game and his stupid future. How could he have let the Knights say such things? Chad was his best friend, his _best friend_ and he had just let people hate on him.

"Arrgh."

Troy stood up abruptly and hit his fist against the locker again, before turning and walking towards the showers, the laughter still echoing, getting louder. Probably just the guys messing around again, he thought, although he was sure that most of them would have headed for the post game party by now. After all _they_ weren't the ones who had been unavoidably detained by an over exuberant coach.

The laughter stopped abruptly as Troy dropped his towel on one of the benches. He was peeling off his sweaty jersey, preparing to hit the showers, when a loud crash resonated and was followed by a yell of pain.

Troy jogged across to the hallway that connected to the away lockers, not bothering to put his jersey back on. The sound of low, angry voices filled the air, but he couldn't hear what they were saying above the metallic clanging that punctuated the words. Moving closer, he crept inside the doorway, careful to stay out of sight. He really didn't have a good feeling about this.

Troy was right to trust his instincts (he usually was, he figured, until it came to things like stupid prejudiced jocks yelling out stupid prejudiced things during a basketball game that he really should have interfered with). Five of the West High Knights (the tallest, most lunkheaded five) had a smaller male figure pressed up against the row of lockers that faced the door, their backs to him keeping the identity of the boy hidden. A flash of bright blonde hair was all Troy could see, but he could hear the boy cry out in pain clear enough as one of the Knights pressed his knee into what Troy assumed was their victim's crotch.

"What's the matter faggot? Don't like all this male attention?" The broadest of the attackers, Johnson, Troy thought his name was, taunted.

"Yeah," another one, whose jersey identified him as Collins, chimed in, "Thought this sort of thing was what you fairy freaks got off on."

The boy stayed silent, even as a yank on his hair caused his head to connect sharply with the locker. He was rewarded for his silence by a sharp slap across the face from Collins, who was in turn rewarded by a harsh sob from his victim.

Troy ducked behind the doorway, wrestling with his conscience as he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. Fuck, he knew what he was _supposed_ to do, what he _should_ do, but there were _five_ of them and only _one_ of him, and there was no way he could take on all of them. But he couldn't just leave the boy, could he? Not even to get help? Who knew if he would get back in time?

Troy stuck his head around the door again to see the smaller figure slumped on the floor as the basketball players hovered menacingly above him, taking turns to kick him, his face hidden by his hands as he struggled to protect himself. It was then that Troy noticed the hat on the floor by the boy: a red fedora. Ryan Evans' red fedora; he would know it anywhere. Which meant the boy could only be one person. His friend. His best friend's boyfriend. And fuck it if he was going to leave now.

Anger surged through him, his decision made for him the second he saw the hat. He'd had _enough_, enough of this fucked up evening and that fucked up excuse for a team. And enough of watching five fucking dickheads beat up someone he cared about just because they could.

"Don't you losers have anything better to do?"

The group turned around as he spoke, stepping away from Ryan enough so that as he uncurled his arms Troy could see the bleeding cut on his cheek where Collins had backhanded him, presumably catching him with the class ring he wore.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Troy Bolton, the Goldenboy himself."

"Very observant, Johnson. Nice to see you still have a few functional brain cells in that thick skull of yours. Now," Troy's voice was low, and he almost shocked himself with how dangerous he sounded, "I believe I asked you a question: don't you have anything better to do?"

"Oh I don't know, Bolton," the larger boy retorted, turning towards his teammates and then back at Troy, a twisted smile on his face.. "Can you think of a better way to get out some post match anger than a good old fashioned game of smear the queer?"

"I..."

"I thought not. Unless we go and fetch your precious number eight. What do you think guys: double the queer, double the fun?" his laughter rang out throughout the locker room; the other players chuckling in response.

Collins grabbed the collar of Ryan's shirt and hauled him up to standing. Ryan stumbled, his legs unsteady, and the larger boy shoved him viciously so that he fell again, catching the side of his head on one of the benches.

"Troy, I-" Ryan stammered. His voice was unsteady and he was clutching his head, but he was OK.

'He's OK.' Troy repeated in his head, 'Thank fuck for that.' Troy glanced up and down Ryan's slight figure as he struggled to get up; a few cuts and scrapes, and some angry red marks that looked like they would purple nicely, but no lasting damage. And he looked like he would be able to walk unaided. Maybe even run. This was good.

Troy stepped forwards and opened his arms out, palms facing his opposing team.

"You want some fun?" he said, "Come and get it."

He caught Ryan's gaze and understanding flashed between them. Ryan nodded.

"Run!"

* * *

Try as he might, Troy couldn't remember much of what happened after Ryan escaped his tormentors. He remembered flashes of colour; the West High Knights' jerseys; the blood on his hand from where he wiped his face after his nose started bleeding; the muddy beige of the tiled floor. He even remembered sounds; the satisfying crunch of his fist connecting with Collins' head; his own cries of pain as he was shoved to the floor; the indignant yells of Ryan, Chad, his father, Principal Matsui, as they came to 'rescue him from the mess he had got himself in' as Chad had put it. But what actually happened? He had no idea.

That didn't mean he didn't still hate himself for it though.

* * *

Chad found Troy in his room the next morning, spying him through the half open door. He hadn't called, but then he hadn't needed to call since he was old enough to be allowed out on his own. Sometimes Troy wished they weren't so close.

"I should have done something... I should have said something." Troy shouted at the door. He held his discarded Wildcats sweater in his hands, wringing out the worn material like the action would help squeeze the thoughts out of his brain, twisting it in his fingers.

"Like what Troy?" Chad countered in a voice louder than he had intended when he had opened his mouth. He invited himself into Troy's room and sat on the bed next to his friend. Troy was wearing black; this was never a good sign. He had hoped that a good night's sleep would talk some sense into the other boy, but clearly he was going to have to do some talking of his own here. The anger in his tone dissipated as he spoke again. "You're not Harry Potter, Troy, no matter what your Halloween costume from eighth grade might tell you."

Troy had to laugh at that. He remembered it well, and the photos from that night had been priceless.

"I mean, dude, you can't just wave about a stick of wood, shout '_Expelliarmus!_' and save the world, you know."

"I know Chad." Troy snapped back, throwing the sweater to the floor. What part of this was Chad not getting? He knew what had happened, had seen the bruises and cuts on Ryan's skin, on Troy's own skin. How did he not understand?

"Then why can't you see that it wasn't your fault? I don't blame you. _Ryan _doesn't blame you!"

"You didn't hear what they were saying!"

"No, but I can guess." Chad interjected, growing increasingly frustrated.

Troy leant forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, with his head in his hands.He spoke so quietly that Chad almost had to strain to hear him.

"I stood there and just let those bigoted fucks hate on you. On you both." Chad went to speak, but Troy held up his hand to stop him.His voice grew angry again as he continued: "Because of a scholarship, man. Because of my own stupid ego. Just like in the summer."

"You were a jerk then, Troy, I'll agree with you on that. But I told you, you being a jerk was probably the best thing that happened to me all summer, because without that I wouldn't be where I am now: with Ry."

"That doesn't change anything about last night."

"No. But you wanna know something? If I had heard those guys-"

"You would have taken them down."

"I would have done the same thing as you!" Chad practically shouted at Troy, grabbing his shoulders for emphasis.

"Really?" Troy shouted back, and if Chad had been practically yelling before then Troy was definitely yelling now. "Because once again I put my future over my friends and you didn't seen too happy about that last time."

"Did you not listen to a single thing I just said?" Chad let go of Troy's shoulders and let his hands return to his sides, resting them on the bed. "Because last time you were a prime jackass. And not just to me. But we've been over this and I'm OK with that. But this time..." he changed tack, hoping to knock some sense into his best friend, "What would have happened if you'd have dropped the game to fight those idiots?"

"I would have wrecked my scholarship chances. And Ryan wouldn't have got hurt."

"Bullshit. Dude, Ryan got hurt because he let himself get cornered, _waiting for me_ in the _wrong locker room_. You fighting wouldn't have made a difference."

"But-"

"Ask him yourself if you want, but I guarantee he will tell you the same thing. And once he gets his flawless skin back he'll probably find the whole thing damn funny. As for the scholarship, well yeah you would have pretty much just have told them to fuck off with that one dude. But you'd also have lost us the game, and probably our captain too. Not to mention you would have been expelled."

"I still should have done something." Troy was stubborn. It was an unfortunate trait, cultivated throughout five generations of Boltons. "You shouldn't have to... fuck it, you shouldn't have to take that!"

"You really think that's the first time I've been asked if I give as good head as I receive? Or been asked what the point of me being a fag is if I'm going to date pussies like Ryan Evans? You think that's the first time I've been called a fucking fag or been told I'm too disgusting to be allowed to live? Or Ryan? Well you need to get your head out of your self pitying ass Troy Bolton and into the real world because that's not how it works."

"Chad, I... you..." he said, studiously ignoring the tear tracks marking Chad's skin. Fuck. Fourteen years he'd been Chad's friend. _Fourteen years_ and he hadn't ever made him cry. This was bad.

"Forget it, Troy... I'm outta here. I'll be at Ry's if you want to call when you figure out what's really important." Chad stood and strode towards the door, walking out without glancing back to see Troy falling back on the mattress, a matching set of tears in his eyes.

Fuck.

* * *

The first thing Troy saw when he ventured to the kitchen two hours later was the plate of cookies on the island. The second thing he saw was his dad sat at the kitchen table, leaning back, hands folded behind his head. He knew that look. That look meant one thing: an intervention.

"Son, I think it's time you and I had a little talk."

Troy laughed nervously, grabbing a cookie. "Dad if it's the birds and the bees then we had that from school in like 9th grade. Besides, I'm _seventeen_ Dad, do you really think I've not..."

"Woah there champ. That's not what I wanted to talk about, but now you mention it..."

"Kidding, Dad... just kidding." The smile disappeared from his face and he pulled up a chair for himself at the table, cookie in hand. "And I know Dad... I know."

"Chad told me what went down between you two."

"He what?"

"Actually he didn't need to tell me... you were pretty loud up there Troy." Jack said, leaning forward and looking directly at his son.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine... this time. Actually, I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you son."

"You're... you're what?"

"I'm proud of you. Takes guts to do what you did on the court. And even more to do what you did for Evans."

"But... I still should have said something!"

"Maybe if you were the same as some of those kids out there, Troy. But what you showed last night, son, is that you're a man these days." he stood up and smiled at Troy, clapping him on the back. "And I'm proud to have witnessed that."

Troy was silent as his Dad left the room.

* * *

Chad's phone rang seven times before it was answered.

"What did you say to him?" Ryan demanded angrily, dispensing with any greeting he might normally have given.

"I... uh... what?"

Ryan spoke slowly, as if he were explaining something to a five year old. "Chad goes over to see you. An hour later he shows up here, bawling his eyes out. Now he's not a good enough actor to pretend that his fish died, or that he lost his favourite basketball or something, so when he's still crying an hour and a half later I can only assume it's because _you did something_. So I repeat: _what did you say to him_?"

"Some pretty stupid things actually." Troy paused, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was embarrassed or repentant. "And I was wrong. Can you tell him I'm sorry?"

Ryan considered his words for a moment before speaking again. "No," he said, softly. "You can tell him."

Troy heard some mumbling on the line as Ryan presumably coaxed his boyfriend into talking to his best friend. At least, he hoped Chad was still his best friend.

"Troy?" Chad's voice was scratchy, and Troy didn't need to see his face to know that what Ryan had said was true.

"Chad... dude. You were right, man," he sighed uneasily, running his free hand through his hair. "You were right, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey... you were an idiot. But you did the right thing." he laughed and Troy knew he was forgiven, "Even if you were an ass about realising it. But what are you going to do if there's a next time?"

"There _won't be_ a next time."

Troy heard Chad sigh. "And if there's a next time..."

"I'll do the same thing?"

Troy could practically hear Chad nodding his approval. "Hey, you're learning dude."

Troy smiled sadly as he arranged to meet with Ryan and Chad later and then hung up the phone. He was learning.


End file.
